


Lessons on Loving a Werewolf

by Villainyandgoodcheekbones



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: I mean really, M/M, Other, Werewolves, basically my ranting about things which people do to seem to address in regards to werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 19:09:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Villainyandgoodcheekbones/pseuds/Villainyandgoodcheekbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of these days, he’s gonna write a fucking paper about it. Because honestly? He’s really fucking sick and tired of seeing werewolves. They don’t know shit about werewolves.</p><p>Because in books and shit, nowadays, on TV, everything is “intoxicating scents” and claiming and marking and attractive people running around with no shirts and life-mates and it’s bullshit. Werewolves, okay, werewolves are fucking difficult to deal with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons on Loving a Werewolf

**Author's Note:**

> So sometimes I write werewolf fic when Chesh posts things.  
> So blame her for this.  
> Title shamelessly cribbed from “Lessons on Loving a Prophet” by Jeanann Verlee  
> Warnings for swearing up a storm and bad writing

One of these days, he’s gonna write a fucking paper about it. Because honestly? He’s really fucking sick and tired of seeing werewolves. They don’t know _shit_ about werewolves.

Because in books and shit, nowadays, on TV, everything is “intoxicating scents” and claiming and marking and attractive people running around with no shirts and life-mates and it’s _bullshit_. Werewolves, okay, werewolves are fucking _difficult to deal with_.

Nobody ever mentions that you end up switching the kind of cigarettes you smoke for a week out of every month because your usual brand smells too much and they make your roommate retch even as he’s punching you in the shoulder and telling you “just fucking stop, asshole, are they made of fucking brimstone?”. Or the logistics of trying conceal a GIANT FUCKING WOLF coming in and out of a two bedroom apartment.

There’s a lot about aggression spiking and people losing control and it always leads to rough sex on the floor. But nobody tells you what to do about aggression spiking and eyes flashing suddenly amber and getting both of you thrown out of _another_ bar. And that…

To be fair, that _sometimes_ ends up with both of them on the floor. More often, it’s an exercise in finding out just how many ways you can hold back a man nearly a foot taller than you, just in case. Because Bahorel has zero fucking inhibitions at the best of times, and when he gets…wolf-y he has even less. He’d bite somebody for the hell of it, just to see what would happen.

And yeah, sure, life-mates inexplicably bonded across time and space by pheromones or some shit is great and all, but nobody talks about frantically crawling the internet and sending cryptic texts about how to calculate dosages to your med-school friends after somebody freaks out and calls Animal Control, and they  manage to fire a dart full of tranquilizer into  Bahorel’s shoulder, and he spends half the night whining, curled into a black knot of fur and the other half naked and gagging in the bathroom.

The _things_ in his search history. Feuilly shudders just thinking about it.

Then there’s fur.

The things which are mentioned about wolf fur are: the “sensuous softness” of it under your palm, or your cheek; how thick it is, or how warm; long, involved and frankly, often nonsensical descriptions of colour. “Lush” gets used a lot. “Silken”.

The things that are not fucking mentioned _at all_ about wolf fur are: how long it takes to get all of it off the couch (And the carpet. And your clothes); how you end up spending the money you would’ve spent on cigarettes on anti-histamines instead, because it turns out that you’re allergic; or the whole place smelling like wet dog when Bahorel’s been out and it’s raining.

They don’t talk about how you worry whether you left the door unlocked, and how the fuck you’re supposed to explain the naked guy on your doorstep if you didn’t. Or the legitimately two-and-a-half-hour-long conversation about what to do if he ends up “Changing” (and that’s a stupid fucking phrase, who the hell even thought of that, that dumb-ass capital at the beginning, like that makes it special) after getting arrested, or if it happens when they’re with other people. Or the differences in alcohol tolerance between a wolf’s body and a man’s. Or how you are about to snap and jam a paintbrush down someone’s trachea the next time you even _think_ you hear the words “little” “red” and “hood” too close together.

God, and “mate”. The entire _concept_ of “mate” just gets so fucked up and there’s a whole _world_ of consent issues there that he’s not even gonna go anywhere near. And anyway, it’s not even like that, and God forbid he ever hears “mate” without “room” before it, or if it’s not one of those times when Bahorel is drunk and impersonating an Australian (with a disturbing degree of success) to make him laugh.

He just wants to grab somebody and scream that a werewolf is not some kind of combination puppy/sex toy that you can alternately pet and have crazy, wild sex with. It’s really not.

Wolves aren’t _pets._ They’re not _sexy._ Wolves are giant fucking canines, with teeth and claws and an estimated bite-force of 1500 pounds per square inch, who could hurt you completely by accident, even when you’re just dicking around. They don’t show the moment when you realize that on TV. They don’t show the moment when _Bahorel_ realizes that, or the look on his face, or the week he spends trying as hard as he can to punish himself for it. It’s not a _joke._

It’s checking the ingredients on shampoo and groceries before you buy anything, to make sure that’s nothing there that might aggravate the world’s worst allergic reaction. It’s strategically re-arranging furniture and marking up calendars and counting down days.

And it’s also hopping onto every “hunting” blog you can find, and that one website that tracks “sightings” and trolling the _hell_ out of the forums.

It’s Bahorel wandering over, wearing glasses because wolves don’t see like people do, and his eyesight is always the first thing to change. It’s taking a moment to appreciate that he looks really fucking good in glasses, and then a moment to hate him for that, just a little. It’s warm weight draped across your shoulders and a grin that’s _just_ starting to look too sharp when he says “Tell them I can fucking jump a building”

“You can’t.”

“So? They don’t fucking know that.”

It’s considering that no, they really don’t and rolling your eyes and typing in it anyway. It’s the way he nuzzles into your neck and bites, careful not to break the skin.

It’s calling him a lupine fuckface, and biting back.


End file.
